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Poem of a Young Mother Who Used to Write Poems

Updated: Mar 3, 2020



Before, I spotted poems like a child with a butterfly net

One would flit by, glowing in the sun,

I’d run to grab a pencil and catch it


Now, though poems rarely flutter past,

I feel their presence

Like unknown treasure below the surface of deep waters

Which bobs up all too briefly, catching the light;

Then, sinking down,

Down again to the bottom of the ocean.


Forget deep sea diving.

The surface of my waters is rarely still long enough

To plunge down deep,

For other beauties call me upward.


So, I will swim alone

A few moments in the sun

Floating face up to the sky

Letting its warm rays soak through me,

My eyes fill up with crimson orange light

Saturating me with its quiet heat

While my ears resound with my own breathing

This is poem enough for now.


Still, sometimes I do linger,

Glimpsing the sheen of some sparkling thing below;

And admire it through many waters.

It beckons,

But I let it go.


I do hope that it will be comfortable waiting there

Lodging itself deep -

That, though its shape or color may have changed,

Its essence will remain.

When one day,

One day I will go down to find it

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